


The Diary of Emma Swan

by FrankenSpine



Series: Scarytales [15]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Based on Carmilla, Bisexuality, Blood Drinking, Diary/Journal, Dwarves, Elves, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Fear Play, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, POV First Person, Sex, Sexual Tension, Shapeshifting, Vampire Evil Queen | Regina Mills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankenSpine/pseuds/FrankenSpine
Summary: Emma is the beautiful daughter of a wealthy nobleman, Lord Swan, and lives in a riverside estate. One day, a carriage crashes near their home and they invite the sole survivor, the enigmatic Duchess Regina von Mille, to stay with them for the time being. Strange things begin to happen, and Emma contracts a mysterious illness that cannot be easily explained.Based loosely on 'Carmilla' by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu.
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan, Hansel | Jack | Nick Branson/Henry Mills
Series: Scarytales [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1464862
Comments: 6
Kudos: 115





	1. The Duchess

As I sit here in my bed, slowly withering away like a delicate flower, it is the fifteenth of August 1873. How uncanny. Just one year ago, on this very day, my life came to be turned on its head. My name is Emma, daughter of Lord David Swan. As of now, I am twenty-two years of age. I should be getting married, but instead I am here all alone, and soon my spirit shall leave my body. I pray it ascends to the Golden Gates above, but given my extraordinary circumstances, I fear I may be bound for the Lake of Fire.

As I said, one year ago today, I was sitting near the upstairs window overlooking the river that runs past my estate, as I did most days. I spotted something moving in the distance and realized it was a carriage pulled by a single horse, drawing closer to the bridge that arched over the calm river.

I wondered who this could have been. An acquaintance of my father’s, perhaps? That must have been the case, or so I thought. My curiosity got the better of me and I descended the stairs to greet the mysterious visitor at the door. I called for my father, and he was at my side just moments later. He, too, seemed intrigued.

“A friend of yours?” I inquired.

He shook his head. “No,” he replied, puzzled, “Perhaps they are in need of directions. Wait here.”

He should have known I would not listen. I followed after him, but rather than reprimand me, he merely chuckled and said nothing more.

The carriage was nearly to the bridge when suddenly, something spooked the horse and it reared back, resulting in a terrible crash that ended the life of the coachman. My father shouted for me to stay behind, and this time I obeyed, looking on in shock and worry as he rushed across the bridge towards the carriage that was now on its side. The horse had broken free in the midst of the chaos and darted into the forest as if in fear of its safety. I found this strange, but did not think much of it at the time. I was too focused on the poor coachman and whomever he had been escorting.

I watched from across the river as my father threw open the door of the carriage and extended his hand for the passenger. It was a woman that emerged from the carriage. Even from this distance, I could see that she was completely unscathed— as well as impossibly-beautiful. I shook my head. Where had _that_ come from? What an odd thing to notice, especially at a time such as this.

Soon, my father returned with the beautiful stranger. She wore a black dress as though she was en route to a funeral. Perhaps she was. I began to suspect that this might not be the case, however, when I saw the smile gracing her painted lips. She seemed amused, though I could not understand why. She had nearly met the same fate as her coachman, and yet here she stood without so much as a scratch. I studied her face closely. She had but a single scar above her lip, but it was clear to me that the blemish had been there for some time. It could not have been a result of this tragedy.

This woman was even more beautiful than I had initially imagined. How was such a thing even possible? Her hair was dark, pulled back in a long braid, and her eyes— dark though they were— burned with a strange passion that left me shifting uncomfortably.

“Darling, this is Duchess von Mille,” my father explained.

I offered a timid ‘hello,’ and the Duchess nodded politely.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Emma. May I call you that?”

I was taken aback by this, not realizing my father had already given her my name, but the look on my father’s face told me he was just as surprised. Neither of us questioned this, however.

“O-Of course,” I replied, stammering a bit.

The Duchess’ smile widened as she stared deep into my eyes, and I was overcome by an inexplicable feeling of paranoia. It was as if she was gazing into my very soul, which left me with a great sense of unease.

“Is there anything we can do for you, Duchess?” asked my father, “I gladly open my home to you, should you wish to stay.”

“You are too kind, Lord Swan. I accept your generous offer.” The Duchess spoke with finesse. “I will send word to my mother. She can send another carriage to fetch me.”

“May I ask where you were headed?”

“Back to my palace,” said the Duchess, “I have just come from the funeral of a dear friend.”

“My apologies,” said my father, “I am sorry for your loss.”

The Duchess did not seem the least bit upset. “Thank you, Lord Swan.” In fact, she seemed to find it almost humorous. “It appears I will have to attend another, for my coachman.”

My father fetched the servants and had them bring the Duchess’ belongings upstairs to the spare bedchamber while he rode into town on his horse to fetch the Undertaker. The Duchess disappeared into her quarters shortly after my father left, yet I could still feel her eyes on me. I, too, retired to my chamber and watched from the window for any sign of my father. I didn’t see him, but what did catch my attention was two things:

Firstly, it had suddenly begun to storm. Thunder roared in the dark clouds and lightning pierced the rainy sky.

And secondly, there was no sign of the coachman’s body. Where could it have gone? It couldn’t have just gotten up and walked away! Right?

After that, I drew the curtains and stayed away from the window for the rest of the day. After a few hours, it became dark, so I lit a candle and went downstairs to see if my father had returned. He was still gone. That worried me terribly. He should have been back by now. I called for him but received no answer. Well, not from my father, anyway.

_“He must be stuck in town.”_

I jumped, gasping as the Duchess’ voice came from behind me, in sync with a crack of lightning in the distance. I turned hesitantly and found myself face to face with the Duchess. She was giving me that same unnerving smile.

“My apologies,” she said, “I did not mean to startle you, dear.”

“No need to apologize,” I told her, observing her face closely in the flickering glow of the candle.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked me.

“Pardon?”

“The storm,” she said, “I find it quite lovely. What about you, _Em-ma?”_

The way she uttered my name left me feeling mildly uncomfortable, though for reasons I didn’t quite understand, it was a pleasurable sensation. What did this mean? There was a rush of wet heat between my thighs, I realized. I was overcome with great shame. I dared not dwell on these feelings, or their implications.

Somehow, some way, the Duchess knew of the thoughts racing through my troubled mind.

“There is no need to feel ashamed, my darling,” she purred, “What you are experiencing is perfectly natural. You must never suppress your desires.”

Without warning, she placed her pretty arms about my neck, drawing me close to her, and she laid her cheek unto mine. Her velvet lips were near my ear, and I could feel her gentle breath ghosting over my pale flesh. My face grew red all the while.

“D-Duchess?”

 _“Shhh,”_ she cooed, _“I know you are frightened of your own feelings— and of me— but you do not have to be afraid. I just know that you and I shall get along swimmingly, sweet Emma.”_

I pulled away from her, aghast, and raced up the stairs with a warm wetness on my inner-thighs. I bit my lip as I heard her chuckle softly in the shadows, feeling her eyes on me even after I locked the door to my bedchamber. I climbed into bed, said a quick prayer, and blew out the candle as I set it on the bedside table. I squeezed by eyes shut and tried everything within my power to ignore the warm, pulsating sensation between my slender legs, but it was no use. My efforts were in vain.

Was this woman the Devil in disguise? Was her dark power the cause of these unholy desires? These desires which I had never experienced in all my days? If only my father was here. Was the Duchess the reason he was trapped in town? Was she responsible for the sudden shift in the weather? And where in the world had the Coachman gone?

I had the strangest dream that night, although it did not feel like a dream. I envisioned a colossal catlike beast, like something that dwelled within the jungle, at the foot of my bed. Its yellow eyes were bright within the darkness, and its black fur held a distinct sheen even in the shadows.

I tried to run— to scream— but I found myself paralyzed. Helpless. I was at this creature’s mercy. It was a demon. That much, I was sure of. It was a demon whose mission it was to steal away my soul. The beast let out a low growl before leaping up onto the bed, and I could do nothing but look on in the utmost terror as it lunged towards me, sinking its needle-like fangs into my breast. I blinked, and suddenly it was not a beast, but a woman. A woman with long, dark hair who donned a white night dress.

I shot up in bed, and all of a sudden it was daytime. The beast and the woman had vanished. I both looked and felt at my breast, fully-expecting to find puncture wounds, but my skin was unblemished. I swiftly climbed out of bed and got dressed in a hurry, rushing downstairs where I discovered my father in the dining room having breakfast with our guest.

“F-Father?” I asked, stunned, “When did you return?”

My father gave me a curious look. “Last night,” he said, “Don’t you remember?”

I shook my head. “No. There was a terrible storm, and I feared you were trapped in town.”

“A storm? I never saw any storm. The sky was perfectly clear. Are you feeling alright, Emma?”

I was in shock. “I— I don’t know,” I said, clutching at my head. I felt nauseous all of a sudden, and a bit lightheaded.

The next thing I knew, I was back in my bed with a cool, damp cloth draped across my forehead. I felt incredibly cold, and yet I was sweating profusely. I could not even begin to understand this. Any of it.

 _“Ah, you’re awake,”_ came a hauntingly-familiar voice.

It was the Duchess. Of _course_ it was the Duchess. She was sitting at the edge of my bed, observing me like a concerned mother, and I felt my blood run cold at the mere sight of her.

“What have you done to me?” I whispered accusingly.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked in a condescending manner.

I frowned. “You did this,” I said, a bit louder this time, “You put some sort of spell on me, you _witch.”_

“Witch?" The Duchess laughed. “Darling, there is no such thing as a witch. I assure you, I am no magical practitioner of any sort. Even if I was a witch, as you claim, I could never cast a spell on you. I am rather fond of you, dear Emma.”

She stroked my cheek gently, making me tense up and turn away. A soft sigh escaped her.

“It seems the feeling is not so mutual. Such a pity.”

“What do you want from me?” I asked bitterly, not meeting the Duchess’ gaze.

“I want nothing _from_ you, dear Emma,” she told me, “I only want _you.”_

I bit my lip, hesitating to respond. “Why?”

“Because,” said the Duchess, “you are a beautiful heiress who has never known the touch of a lover. I want to make you mine.”

Her words dripped with sinful desire, and though I was overcome with great shame, I could not help looking at her. Once my eyes met hers, my mind slipped into the darkness. I realized I did not have control of my body, yet I could feel her arms snaking around me, holding me close to her in an almost loving manner. That was when I felt a sharp pain in my breast.

When I opened my eyes, I found myself standing in the center of the room. The Duchess was nowhere to be found. Instead, I was in the company of the catlike beast whose fur cast a shadow upon darkness itself. I stood there in terror, not moving as I feared the creature would make me its next meal. It was then that I heard the Duchess’ voice echoing in the back of my mind.

_“You must not be afraid, Emma. I will do you no harm.”_

My eyes grew wide. “Duchess?” I whispered.

The creature stepped in front of me and stared up at my pale face. Its mouth did not move, yet I knew it was speaking to me.

_“Yes, my darling. It is I.”_

I could not believe what I was hearing. This beast was the Duchess— or perhaps the Duchess was this beast. I fought not to shudder as the creature nudged my hand with its cold nose. I must have given no outward reaction, for I felt the monster’s warm, rough tongue slide across the back of my knuckles.

_“Why do you ignore me?”_

I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I could. “Please,” I whispered, “leave me alone.”

Suddenly, I heard the grotesque cracking of bones, and I felt a pair of slender arms slipped over my shoulders. I gasped and my eyes flew open, revealing to me the shocking sight of the Duchess, unabashedly in the raw. Her bare body gleamed beautifully in the light of the fire that hadn’t been there before. I could do nothing but stare deeply into her eyes. She smiled softly at me as if to assure me that all was well.

“I don’t think you want me to leave you alone,” she husked, “I think you want me to stay. No. I know you do. You can deny it all you like, my sweet, but I know that deep down, you fancy me. You crave my touch. How do I know this? I know because I can taste the desire in your blood.”

“My— My _blood?”_

“Yes. You are dreaming, Emma. This is the Astral Plane. Your true body is in the Physical Realm. I am drinking your blood as we speak.”

I gasped, but could not pull away. Tears welled in my eyes. “You _monster,”_ I hissed, “How could you violate me in such a manner? Have you no heart? No soul?!”

“A heart? Yes, though it no longer beats. A soul? Why, Emma, surely you know there is no such thing as a soul. There is only the conscience, hidden away within the confines of the skull, which is not nearly as sturdy as it ought to be. Believe me, it is really quite fragile. Delicate, like a butterfly.”

Without warning, the Duchess pressed her lips to mine and eased me back onto the bed. She kissed me. I had never been kissed before— certainly not by another woman, save for the occasional peck on the cheek from my mother when I was very young.

When she pulled back, I saw lust in her eyes. No. Not lust, but rather, _hunger._ A primal, voracious hunger, as if she wished to devour my very soul. It was terrifying yet exhilarating all at once, having one desire you in such a way. I had never experienced anything quite like it.

Before I could even think to react, the Duchess’ lips were upon my throat, nipping and sucking at the pale flesh there. I moaned involuntarily and my face grew red with embarrassment.

“Please,” I whispered, “I must save myself for marriage.”

“Marriage is overrated,” she said simply before resuming her obscene performance.

I bit my lip to stifle yet another wanton moan as fear and desire coursed through my veins, resulting in an alarming pulsation amid my thighs. I whimpered, for I could feel just how slick they were with my own arousal, and alas, the Duchess seemed to sense this as well. Without warning, she grabbed the hem of my white dress and pulled it back, leaving me exposed to her, and she touched me where no one had before.

She brought her lips down to my breast, sliding her warm tongue across the stiff peak and sucking at the sensitive flesh in an effort to make me moan. She succeeded. With a quiet chuckle, she spread my nether lips with her index and little fingers. I gasped, promptly grabbing her wrist, and stared at her with great fear.

“Please,” I said once more, louder this time, “I can never be married if I am impure.”

“You will _always_ be pure, my darling,” rasped the Duchess, “I will not tear your maidenhead, if that is what worries you. None shall know of this but us, sweet Emma.”

I swallowed. “Swear to me,” I whispered.

The Duchess smiled faintly and planted a feather-light kiss upon my lips. “I swear,” she said, and to my surprise, I believed her.

She pushed her other two fingers inside and this time, I allowed myself to moan. My eyes fell shut and I let my head fall back as the Duchess’ slender fingers prodded deep within me, making me gasp, whimper, and moan. In that moment, I felt no shame. Only sinful pleasure, which at the time, felt like the graceful touch of an angel.

I had known her for less than a day— or at least, that was how long it seemed to have been. It was difficult for me to keep track of time with the Duchess around. Regardless, here I was, writhing beneath her as she curled her fingers with me and drew a myriad of soft whimpers from my lips with every dominating kiss.

The pace of her fingers grew faster, and their movements rougher, sparking a delicious ache between my thighs that left me feeling dizzy with pleasure. My breath grew ragged and I found myself rocking in time with her skilled hand. My inner walls clenched, quivered, and pulsed around her fingers. She kissed me again and again until I saw stars bursting behind my eyelids, and I shuddered with a breathless scream of pure ecstasy.

My body fell limp and I lied there in silence, panting slow, heavy breaths. I could feel her eyes on me. There was a sudden calmness that fell over the room like a warm blanket. I moaned softly as she pulled her fingers away. They dripped with the essence of my arousal. I heard a low moan escape her and opened my eyes to find her sucking the glistening fluids from her saturated fingers.

“It’s almost as sweet as your blood,” she rasped. She leaned in close to me and pressed her lips to my ear, nipping playfully at the lobe. “I look forward to sampling it for real this time.”

I frowned a bit. “What?”

“I told you, Emma, we are in the Astral Plane. Our bodies are back in your bed chamber.”

“So none of this is real?”

“I never said _that,”_ the Duchess replied with an amused smile.

I blinked, and in an instant, the room was filled with sunlight. My father had his hand upon my head, checking my temperature.

“Emma, are you feeling alright?”

I groaned. “What? How long have I been asleep?”

“All day. The Duchess told me you were running a high fever.”

I looked around but saw no sign of her. “Where is she?”

“In her room, resting,” my father told me, “Why?”

I shook my head. “I was just curious, is all.”

My father smiled softly. “You seem rather fond of her,” he said.

My heart skipped a beat. “W-What?”

“The Duchess,” he said, “you two seem to be getting along well. I’m glad. Perhaps if you remain in her good graces, our families could forge an alliance.”

“An alliance?”

“I was thinking you could wed one of her kinsmen.”

“What if I do not wish to be married?”

“Nonsense,” he said with a chuckle, “You must find a husband.”

“But _why?”_

“Because, Emma, it is necessary to carry on our lineage, and to maintain a positive public image. It is expected of us, as nobles.”

“Why should we care what others think? If we are above them, why does their opinion matter?”

My father just sighed and shook his head. “You truly are running a fever,” he said, turning towards the door. “I will have one of the servants bring you some soup. Do try and get some rest.”

“Yes, Father,” I muttered.

I drifted back off to sleep, only to awaken once more as the sun was beginning to set. I rubbed my tired eyes and climbed out of bed, walking on unsteady feet towards the curtains so I could pull them open. The moon was full with life and light, bathing my pale skin in its ethereal beauty.

 _“Perfect, isn’t it?”_ came the voice of the Duchess.

Having not expected her presence, I gasped and stumbled back a bit, but fortunately, she caught me in her arms and held me close to her.

“Careful,” she murmured, “You shouldn’t be out of bed, dear. Not until you’ve regained your strength.”

I didn’t fight her as she guided me back to my bed. I didn’t protest when she placed a second pillow beneath my aching head. I didn’t complain about her kissing my temple. I just stared curiously at her. As always, she seemed to know exactly what I was thinking, but it didn’t frighten me any longer. I had only known her for a short time, yet it felt like we’d been friends for years.

“My father wants me to wed one of your kinsmen,” I told her.

“Yes, I’m aware,” she said, “and you do not wish to.”

“Not particularly.”

“What if we made a deal, you and I?”

“A deal?”

The Duchess smiled. “Yes. One that would benefit us both. You could marry my cousin, Sir Killian,” she said.

“How would that be beneficial?”

“Listen to me, darling,” she chided.

“Apologies, Duchess,” I rasped.

With a curt nod, she continued. “Killian is a sailor, and spends much of his time out at sea. As such, he is often in the company of his crew, all of whom are men. Do you see where I am going with this, Emma?”

“Not really, no.”

“What I mean is, Killian fancies his fellow man.”

“You mean, in a sexual way?”

“Precisely.”

“Then why would he want to marry _me?”_

“Because, dear girl, marrying him would require you to come and live at the family estate. You see, when he is not out at sea, he lives there with me.”

“So if I marry him, he will be gone most of the time, and you can have me all to yourself?”

The Duchess grinned. “Now you’re catching on.”

My father was ecstatic when I relayed the news to him. I would marry Sir Killian when he returned home the following year. Alas, it was not meant to be. In the span of a year, my conditioned worsened. Of course, the Duchess returned to her estate, but each night, I caught brief glimpses of her in the darkness of my room.

And now, one year later, here I sit with my journal, slowly wasting away. I can barely walk. It hurts to breathe most days. I sleep all day and lie here in the night, restless and unable to do a thing about it. My father forces me to eat since I have no desire for food. Lately, all I crave is the taste of blood. It’s getting harder and harder to resist the urge to bite those who come near.

As of an hour ago, my heart stopped beating and now I no longer feel the need to breathe. The Duchess is here now. I do not know how she arrived so quickly, but I think it would be best not to ask questions. She is allowing me to write a bit more, but insists that we leave now. I will write more once we reach our destination. She tells me I am like her now. I am not alive, though not quite dead, either. ‘Somewhere in between,’ she says. I don’t really understand what that means. Anyway, I’ll be leaving here shortly. I’ve got a wedding to get to. I will be sure to write my father when I get the chance. I’ve left him a note. It is short and to the point. A simple goodbye and an ‘I love you.’ What more could a loving daughter need to say?


	2. Expedition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Norwegian names of the dwarves: Grinete (Grumpy), Minsten (Dopey), Prosit (Sneezy), Søvnig (Sleepy), Lykkelig (Happy), Sjenert (Bashful), and Legen (the Doctor-- as close as I could get to 'Doc').

It is now the early morning of August sixteenth, 1873. Here I sit at my new home, in my new room— the one I share with the Duchess. She insists that I call her Regina, and I suppose there is no harm in it, but it feels improper. She says it is ridiculous that I feel the need to write in this diary, rather than come to bed with her, but I think she secretly likes it. Perhaps she even finds it endearing.

I doubt I will ever truly understand her thought process. She is certainly a strange one, but I don’t mean that in a negative way. I no longer find her frightening. There is a softness to her that I find impossible to ignore. Being in her presence, I feel a sense of comfort.

It turns out there is no Killian. Well, there was, but he was lost at sea many years ago and never returned. There will be no wedding. I should be agitated that Regina lied to me, but in truth, I am grateful. It would not sit well with me, being married to one and lying with another, even if my _darling husband_ was off doing just that. I could not bear the weight of a guilty conscience. If my illness had not killed me, the remorse certainly would have.

“Come to bed,” Regina is telling me.

I’ve told her repeatedly that I have not finished writing yet. Now here she is, looming behind me like an ominous shadow and peering over my shoulder. I wonder how she will react if I say she is the best thing to have ever happened to me?

Here I am again at the desk, writing in the flickering light of the candle. When Regina saw what I had written, she scooped me up in her arms and set me on the bed, kissing my neck tenderly as she whispered sweet nothings to me. I know she loves me, even though she doesn’t say it— even though she has a very funny way of showing it. She is by far the most fascinating person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.

* * *

It has been some time since I last wrote in this diary. I’ve had it tucked away with my belongings. Today is the second of April, 1874. Regina and I are traveling by boat to Ireland. I’ve wanted to visit this beautiful land ever since I was small. She tells me there are still faeries that dwell deep within the forests here, unseen by those who have long-since stopped believing in them. After the things I have witnessed, there is not a doubt in my mind that these faeries do exist, and I look forward to meeting them.

Regina scoffed when she saw me writing in here again, but I know she thinks it charming. I doubt she will ever admit such a thing. I have only one regret, and that is not bidding my father a proper farewell. I have written many letters to him from abroad, but I cannot say if they have reached him. He has no way of writing back to me, and that hurts, though I suppose it is better this way. I am no longer human. Would he even see me as his daughter? I fear that if I returned, I might drain his life force as Regina did mine. I couldn’t do that to him. Immortality is not such a terrible thing, so long as you have someone to share it with. In my case, I am grateful that ‘someone’ is Regina.

They are real. Faeries are _real._ I have befriended a faerie called Tinkerbell. It’s quite a name, but I find it sweet. The others call her ‘Green,’ which I assume is because of the wisps of green mist that emanate from her pale skin. The leader of the faeries is called ‘Blue,’ and of course, she radiates a similar, blue essence. Regina seems wary of her, but I do not understand why.

Now I see the truth. Blue is responsible for the disappearances of many local women from the surrounding villages. Regina uncovered the Blue Faerie’s plan to sacrifice the women, all of whom were virgins, in an effort to revitalize the magic deep within the earth. Blue attacked Regina, but as it turns out, a faerie is no match for a vampire. I wish I had not seen what I saw, but I cannot change the past. All I can do now is repress the bloody memory.

We’re on a boat again, sailing to Norway alongside Tinkerbell. She says there are dwarves there. I can only pray they don’t massacre any humans.

Regina is by my side, holding me close to her as I write in this journal. I’m grateful to have her here with me. Even as I sit here, unbreathing and undying, I cannot quite understand her, but I think I prefer it that way. She is an enigma. A mystery. A puzzle with missing pieces. I suppose I am one of those pieces. The thought brings me comfort in these troubling times.

It has been a few days now since we left Ireland. I am growing seasick, so I have spent much of my time in the cabin below deck. There is a warm bed and a lantern hanging from a hook upon the wall. I haven’t felt like writing anything until now. Surprisingly, Regina recommended it. She says it will help me take my mind off of my illness. It seems my body is still adjusting to being undead. In truth, I do not feel all that different than when I was alive, aside from the desire to drink blood, of course.

I have been drinking Regina’s blood lately, and vice-versa. It is far more satisfying to me than that of a wild beast. I have yet to taste the blood of a human. I do not wish to. Not ever. The thought of drinking human blood makes me nauseous. I feel like resting now. I will continue this entry some other time.

* * *

After several weeks, we have finally reached Norway. The voyage has been long and strenuous on us all, but we are here now, and I thirst for blood.

Regina offered herself to me, and I sank my fangs into her breast. Her moans were fuel to the fiery passion in my cold, dead heart. She clutched at me in what I can only describe as desperation and held me close to her as I lapped up her sweet blood.

As I stood upon Norwegian soil, I was relieved to feel solid ground beneath my feet at long last. When I descended into a dark cavern after Regina, Tinkerbell followed close behind me, and I was in awe of what I saw. Just as the faeries proved to be real, so too did the dwarves that mine gold and jewels deep within the fertile earth.

“What do you think, Emma?” Regina asked me.

“It is absolutely _incredible,”_ I rasped, “Never did I think I would lay eyes upon faeries and dwarves. I long to know what other fantastic beings walk upon this earth.”

Regina smiled at me as if she was proud. “You will,” she said softly, “one day.”

We were met by seven dwarves: _Grinete, Minsten, Prosit, Søvnig, Lykkelig, Sjenert,_ and _Legen._ I did not understand their language, but as I should have anticipated, Regina did. Of course she did. She introduced them to me in our mother tongue.

“Their names are Grumpy, Dopey, Sneezy, Sleepy, Happy, Bashful, and— _the Doctor.”_

I raised an eyebrow. “Those are certainly some,” I paused, _“interesting_ names.”

Regina chuckled. “Indeed,” she said. She turned back to the dwarves and uttered something in Norwegian.

The next thing I knew, I was in an underground drinking hall with a bunch of short, bearded fellows as they guzzled down mead and ale. I declined to take part in the merriment. I wished only to drink the Duchess’ blood, and so I did.

For one reason or another, when I tasted her blood this time around, I suddenly acquired the ability to speak Norwegian. I do not understand how she did it, but she undoubtedly gave me some of her knowledge.

I thanked the dwarves for their hospitality and expressed a desire to visit them again someday, and in return, they each gifted me an item of value. From Grumpy, I received a single golden coin. Dopey eagerly handed me a smooth, oval-shaped stone. I was given a pendant in the shape of a hammer by Sneezy. Sleepy presented a golden ring with ancient runes etched into it. I was rewarded with the head of a spear by Happy. Bashful gave me a large emerald shard that glistened beautifully, even down here within the earth. Finally, from the Doctor, I was given a small glass vial with a string tied around it. It appeared to be empty.

Sensing my confusion, the Doctor explained: “Within this vial is the roar of a dragon. It can only be used once. Use it wisely.”

* * *

Today is the seventh of October, 1890. I have not felt the need to write in this diary for some time, as you can see. Regina, Tinkerbell and I have traveled from Norway to Iceland, Iceland to Russia, Russia to Japan, and so many other strange and wondrous places. Along the way, we have encountered faeries, dwarves, elves, shapeshifters, ghouls, sentient furniture, living statues and of course, other vampires. Only recently, while we were in England, did we encounter a coven of witches. Naturally, I quizzed Regina about this.

“I thought you said witches did not exist?”

“I did,” she said, “and I have no choice but to admit that I was mistaken.”

I was in shock. “Did you just say what I think you said?”

An amused smile tugged at the Duchess’ lips. “Yes, darling. You heard me correctly.”

“I must include this in my diary. This is a most remarkable occasion.”

“If you say so.”

And now here we are. Regina von Mille has admitted to being wrong, something I did not think possible.

* * *

It is now the eighteenth of December, 1900. Within the past week, we have acquired a new member of our little group, a black cat named Alastair who was transformed into a talking feline by a vengeful witch after he plucked a rose from her garden.

Alastair and Regina seem to be getting along quite well, as if they’ve known one another for years. We encountered him while in Scotland, which is where we have been living for the past decade. There hasn’t been much that I felt the need to write about until now.

All the time we have spent sailing has allowed me to get used to the rocking of the ship, and I no longer grow ill while at sea. I am grateful, to say the least. At this very moment, the four of us are headed for America, the land of opportunity and freedom. I think we are all looking forward to it. I know I am, anyway. Perhaps I am the most optimistic. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. As of now, no one has protested the journey.

* * *

The date is January twenty-sixth, 1903. We reached America two years prior, and have been traveling all over the country ever since, searching for the perfect place to settle down. We have finally found that place. Here, deep in the woods of Maine, is a hidden gem known as Storybrooke. Knowing what I know now, it is no wonder why the four of us were drawn to it like moths to a flame.

There is not a single human living in this paradise. There are faeries, dwarves, elves, lycans, vampires, leprechauns, shapeshifters, witches, ghouls, nymphs and satyrs, centaurs, and so much more. There is even a unicorn. I haven’t gotten a good look at it, but I swear I caught a glimpse of a phoenix soaring above the trees.

Most astounding of all is what happened just a few hours earlier. While we were each getting acquainted with the townspeople, Regina was approached by a dark-haired man whose left hand had been substituted with a silver hook. For the first time since meeting her, I saw tears in Regina’s eyes as they fell upon this man.

 _“Killian,”_ she murmured, “is that really you?”

The man pulled her into a tight embrace. “Aye,” he said.

“I thought I would never see you again. Why did you never return?”

“I never felt like I belonged there,” said Killian, “Apologies for not writing to you. As you can see, I lost my dominant hand.”

“How did this happen? Why has it not regenerated?”

“It was severed by an iron blade. You know what iron does to us.”

“Oh, Killian. I am _so_ sorry.”

“It is I who should apologize,” Killian insisted. He looked to me curiously. “Who is this lovely lady?”

Regina smiled despite her tears. “This is Emma Swan,” she said softly, “my dearest love. She is the daughter of Lord David Swan.”

“Ah, yes, I know of Lord Swan.” Killian smiled and extended his hand to me. I shook it politely. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Swan. My name is Killian Jones.”

“The feeling is mutual, Sir Killian. Regina here once concocted a plan for me to marry you.”

“Come again?”

Regina laughed. “Ah yes, _that._ I will explain it to you later, Killian. Right now, I would like nothing more than to get some rest. We have been sailing all over the globe, and I don’t know about you lot, but I am _exhausted.”_

“As am I,” said Alastair.

“And me,” Tinkerbell added.

“What about you, Emma?” asked Regina.

I smiled. “I would like to write all this down in my diary. I am wide-awake.”

Regina chuckled. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I must confess, this is most certainly an event worth documenting.”

And now, as I sit here writing this latest entry, I have come to the conclusion that I will only record the most important events of my life. Perhaps even the most intimate. I pray that this diary never falls into the wrong hands. Many, if not all, of my entries would surely get me burned at the stake. I know I would not die, but I do not wish to suffer, either.

Well, I will continue this another time. Regina is growing restless. She wants to make love to me, as she put it, and I am more than happy to oblige.

* * *

As the years have passed, the town has gotten bigger, though the magic that surrounds it leaves it unseen by human eyes. In this time, the people have decided that they need a leader to maintain order within the community. The election is coming up soon. There are only three candidates: Ursula the Sea Witch, the Genie of the Lamp, and last but not least, my beloved Regina.

It is the ninth of March, 1910. Election day has finally arrived. Everyone has come forward and placed their ballots in the proper boxes.

She did it. She actually did it. Regina won the election by a landslide. It seems that of all the mystical beings, vampires are regarded as the most noble and upstanding citizens. I cannot disagree with this sentiment. Perhaps I am just biased, not because I myself am a vampire, but because I have never encountered anyone more esteemed than Regina von Mille.

With Regina running things, one of her first orders of business was to construct a playground for the children. She seems particularly fond of them. I must admit, I never realized she has such an affinity for children. Seeing how she is with the little ones, I know she would make a wonderful mother. It is truly a shame that I cannot give her any.

* * *

Four months have passed since the election, and Regina has just expressed to me how much she would like to have a child. Of course, we both realize that cannot happen between us, and I have just learned that the love of my life is a barren woman. I never suspected it. I never had any reason to. My heart breaks for her. I cannot begin to fathom what pain she must feel, knowing she can never have the one thing she truly wants.

Something terrible has just happened. A ship full of children, along with a handful of men and women, has arrived at the harbor. Among them are faeries, elves, witches, and a single dragon. Word has spread that there were many more on board, but they were made victims of a terrible storm that resulted in violent waves.

As of now, the survivors are staying at the local inn. As Mayor, Regina felt it was her duty to ensure they receive proper shelter and warm meals. She has just returned from the inn. She seems distraught. I worry for her, and of course for the new residents.

We spoke just now, and she relayed to me that there is an infant among the group whose mother, a witch, was swept overboard by a monstrous wave. It is unlikely the woman survived. Regina expressed her desire to adopt the child, a boy just nine weeks old. I fully support her decision. I wish to see her smile again.

* * *

Today is truly a grand day. It is the fifteenth of July, 1910, and Regina has officially adopted the young witch as her own. She has chosen to name him Henry, in honor of her father. I find it incredibly endearing. As it turns out, today is also the day she was born. Why I am just now hearing about this is beyond me.

For months now I have not seen Regina smile, but now that she has Henry, she has yet to stop. It matters not that she did not give birth to him. She is his mother, and an amazing one, at that. She entertains him with a silver rattle, something her mother did for her when she was but an infant.

Regina was born a vampire, so she sleeps while the sun is up. I, on the other hand, was once human, so I assume that is why the sunlight does not bother me as much. I look after Henry in the day, resting on and off so that I can stay up during the night with Regina.

* * *

It is now the fifteenth of July, 1911, exactly one year after Regina adopted little Henry. He has just begun to walk, and Regina spends much of her time just watching him in utter fascination. At this very moment, Henry is sitting on the floor playing with some of his wooden blocks. Regina is observing him with an amused smile. I cannot help but chuckle. If Regina is happy, then so am I.

I have just given Regina a bouquet of black roses, as it is her birthday. She insists that I should not have gone through the trouble, but it was no trouble at all, and I know she appreciates the sentiment.

Three hours have passed since I gave her those flowers. Regina has spent said hours making me writhe and moan beneath her in our bed. She even let me drink some of her sweet blood (an added bonus). She has proven time and time again to be an excellent teacher in the subject of carnal knowledge, for I have learned so much. We know how to please one another, both in and outside the bedroom. I feel this is imperative to strengthening our relationship.

Currently, I am sitting in the parlor upstairs, admiring the view of the town from the window. The sky is a gentle gray, blocking out the sun. I am immensely grateful for this, and I’m sure Regina feels the same way. Henry and Regina are both resting, so I am trying to be quiet. I wouldn’t want to disturb them.

I’ve decided to stop writing for a while. I’ll come back when something truly interesting happens. I promise.


	3. Letters from Abroad

Today is the first of December, 1920. Henry is now ten years-old, attending school with the rest of the children. He has become close friends with a boy named Hansel, the young son of a blind witch.

Regina has cropped her hair so that it falls only to her shoulders. As much as I admired her long, luxurious tresses, I cannot help but like her hair a bit better this way. I am certain I will appreciate it no matter how long or short it may be. She is still as breathtaking as ever.

It is growing closer to Christmas time, or as the townspeople call it, _Yuletide._ Regina has never been one for celebration, but this year is different. Henry wishes to take part in the festivities, and Regina could never deny him such an opportunity. She would do anything for him, no matter the cost. That much I am sure of. The thought alone brings a smile to my face.

Henry is such a sweet boy. He has been receiving magic lessons from his schoolteacher, Miss West. She is the eldest of all the witches. Her eyes are a striking green and her hair is like fire. She is, for the lack of a better term, _intense,_ but she is a good tutor at the end of the day, and Henry seems to like her. I suppose that is all that truly matters.

* * *

I meant to write much sooner, but it seems time has gotten away from me. It is now the eleventh of September, 1925. Henry is currently fifteen, and has grown rather rebellious, as teenagers are known to be. Regina is not worried, though. She trusts him not to do anything too foolish, and thus, so do I.

The outside world is affected by the prohibition of alcohol, but we in Storybrooke— our wondrous hidden gem— have continued to enjoy the taste of wine, mead and beer. It seems we do not harbor the same backwards views as humankind. Do not think me a hypocrite, for I, too, was human once, but that is all in the past. I am not the same naïve maiden I was all those years ago, thanks to my darling Regina.

I cannot imagine what my life would have been like without her, and truthfully, I do not wish to. She and Henry are all I care about, to be quite frank— and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

* * *

Today is the twenty-seventh of February, 1931. Henry is twenty-one now. He left Storybrooke earlier today on his motorcycle, expressing a strong desire to travel the world as his mother did. Regina is distraught, but she could never keep him from following his dreams. Her only request was that Henry contact her whenever possible. Of course, he promised to do just that, and I know Henry would never break a promise to his beloved mother.

Regina has spent most of the day cleaning the house meticulously, no doubt to take her mind off of the pain she must feel, not having her darling son around. Although he is a man, I know Regina still sees him as the precious baby boy who arrived at the harbor all those years ago. I, too, find it difficult to see him as anything else.

* * *

It is the morning of March tenth, 1931. Regina has just received a letter from Henry. It reads as follows:

_Dear Mother,_

_I am writing to you from Boston, Massachusetts. I just wanted to write you and let you know I am alright, and that I have befriended a man named Jack Bean. He is half-human and is rather tall, being the son of a giant. Of course, he knows I am a witch and that doesn’t worry me. I feel like I can trust him. He is a good man. I’m sure you would like him._

_We have agreed to travel the country together. Maybe when I return home one day (and I promise I will), I will bring Jack with me. As of now, we are headed for New York. I imagine we will already be there by the time you get this letter. I pray this reaches you._

_All my love,_  
_Henry von Mille._

* * *

Today is April second, 1931. Another letter has arrived in the mail.

_Dear Mother,_

_Once again, I am doing well. Jack and I have been staying in New York for the past week, but we plan on going down to Pennsylvania soon. We have both decided to work on a farm in the countryside. I think it will be good for us. Nice, honest work._

_I wish you could be here with me, Mother. I miss you, but I am not quite ready to come home. Give my regards to Emma. I want her to know that she has been a second mother to me all these years, and she is greatly appreciated._

_Yours truly,_  
_Henry._

* * *

It is now May second, 1931. A solid month has passed without any word from Henry. Regina is worried sick, but I know in my heart that he is alright. I’m sure there has just been a complication with the mail, nothing more.

Regina has decided to have a cinema built, right in the middle of town. The townspeople are quite bored, it seems, so I think this will help liven the place up. I personally would love to see a picture show. I have never witnessed moving pictures myself, so I look forward to the occasion. I can only imagine what sorts of shows might make it into our cinema. One thing I am certain of is that no picture show will ever be as extravagant or inspiring as the life I have led with Regina by my side.

* * *

Today is the twelfth of May, 1931. Regina has just received another letter. Just as I told her, Henry is perfectly fine.

_Dear Mother,_

_I am pleased to tell you that Jack and I have been hired as farmhands in Pennsylvania. Just as I suspected, the work is honest and good, and I enjoy the physical labor. The old farmer, Mr. Jethro, says it builds character. He’s absolutely right. I miss you terribly, Mother. You, Emma, and the rest of the town._

_Jack and I plan on staying here for another few months before we move on again. As much as I enjoy it here, I can’t just stay in one place forever. In case you didn’t notice, I’ve included a picture along with this letter. It’s one of Jack and I. I’m sure you’ll be surprised by just how tall he is._

_All my love,_  
_Henry._

_P.S: I know I won’t be able to hide it from you forever, so I might as well let you know now. Jack has won my heart just as Emma won yours. We swore we would stay together until the very end, however long that may be. I think it is safe to say that what we share is True Love._

* * *

Another month passed without word from Henry, followed by another, and then another. At this point, even I had begun to worry, but just this morning, the postman rode up to the lone wooden mailbox at the edge of town. Though he could not see us, Regina and I watched him in anticipation from the opposite side of the enchanted barrier. Only when he rode away did we approach the large box.

It is reserved for the whole town (not that the postman knew that), but no one really ever gets letters sent to them from beyond the barrier, besides Regina and I, of course.

We returned home with a package and a letter addressed to us. Regina thought it best to open the letter first. Naturally, I concurred.

_Dear Mother and Emma,_

_It saddens me to say that Jack and I were left with no choice but to flee Pennsylvania. We were caught having ‘relations,’ and let’s just say the farmer and the other workers didn’t take too kindly to that sort of thing. We’re in Kentucky now. We passed through West Virginia but decided it was best to have at least one state between us and the men who want us dead._

_I don’t mean to worry you too much. We’re both fine, I promise. Along with this letter, I’ve also sent you a package. I hope you haven’t already opened it. I was hoping you would wait until you read my letter. I think you’ll enjoy it. I’ll be sure to send you another as soon as I can._

_Sincerely,_  
_Henry and Jack._

The moment Regina opened up the package, tears welled within her eyes. Inside the box was a leather-bound book. She opened it and found an assortment of photos, some of landmarks, some of Henry, others of Jack, and some featuring them both. The rest were either pictures of buildings or of people (or buildings _and_ people). Every photo had a small note beneath it, detailing when and where they were taken, who was in them, and what was significant about them. It had clearly taken some time to put together.

Regina smiled despite the tears in her eyes. “I am _so_ proud of him,” she murmured.

I squeezed her hand gently. “As am I, my love,” I told her, smiling all the same. “As am I.”

* * *

Today is August the fifth, 1942. Eleven years have gone by since Henry left, and so much has changed. Storybrooke has its very own cinema, as well as a community garden and a public fountain where the townspeople often go to toss in their coins in exchange for wishes. Regina and I have spent the past two years building a quaint cabin in the woods, just shy of the beach.

We decided that our last home was much too spacious for just the two of us, so we moved into the cabin. Still, Regina opted to maintain the manor so that it would still look nice when Henry returned. She wants him to have it.

At this very moment, I am relaxing in the hammock outside the cabin, writing in this worn out diary. I’m afraid I am running out of room to write. I will have to get another one soon. How I love the ocean. Of course, the mere sight of it is breathtaking, but what I love most about it is the smell. The salty sea-breeze that wafts within the maritime air. Though I once held it in contempt, I have come to know it as my favorite scent.

Here I lie in the hammock, enjoying the nice shade of the overhead trees and admiring the sparkling water from afar. I prefer to keep a distance between us in the daylight, but come nightfall, I want nothing more than to strip down to nothing but my undergarments and rush out into the waves with my True Love in tow. Sometimes I will bring a net with me, hoping to collect the rarest and most beautiful of shells. Perhaps one day, if I am lucky, I will find a pearl. When that day comes— _if_ it comes— I will give said pearl to my darling Regina. If I should happen upon two, I must confess that I shall keep one for myself.

Alas, I now have only one page left in this old diary. I will make this short and to the point:

My one regret in this long life of mine is that I did not bring my father with me, but aside from that, I am content. I live in a wonderful home with a wonderful family, and have had a wonderful life all around. I think the only way I could be any happier than I am right now, at this very moment, is with Henry back home with Regina and I.

_Until next time,_  
_Emma Swan._


End file.
